Even When You Don't Say It
by BlackBandit111
Summary: Walter won't admit it, Cabe knows, but the kid needs help. Walter whump, tag (Slight AU ending?) to "Love Boat". No slash.


_Hey, cyclone! So I fell out of this fandom fora bit but I think I'm back in the swing of things, finally! ismile: I'm sorry, I'll have your fic out ASAP! In the meanwhile, I hope y'all enjoy this fic!_

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Cabe hadn't realized it at first, caught up in the mission as he was, but he can see it now and doesn't know how he could've missed it, because it's glaringly obvious. It's in the way the kid gingerly sits himself down when they're picked up by the Coast Guard, the way he pulls the offered jacket closer instead of pushing it away, the way his fingers curl into the blanket provided instead of throwing it off.

Walter is hurt.

Badly.

He favors his right arm, but his left hand (which is scraped up and cut from when Walter had clung to the roped siding of the lifeboat, Cabe knows- he'd watched it bleed as it was bandaged) is held close to his body. His right arm must have wrenched pretty painfully when he'd held fast to Cabe and Sylvester, the agent figures, or else Walter wouldn't be cradling it so. He's hunched- he landed on his back when swinging from the pipe, Cabe remembers, and he's tilting to his right, from where he'd been hit in the ribs.

All in all, today hasn't been Walter's day.

(He remembers wide eyes bright with something trusting and maybe a little afraid, peering up at him faithfully as Cabe gestures for Walter to cross his arms over his chest, and they plummet together and he can hear the moment one of Walter's ribs gives an ugly sounding snap-)

So now Cabe is rightfully concerned, but he hesitates. Walter hates hospitals- always has. Personally Cabe thinks they remind him too much of Meghan, but he isn't really in the position to say anything, so he can't be sure. The kid needs help, though- this is a fact.

But not here. Not now. Not when everything is winding down and all these people are mucking about.

Cabe waits for Walter to finish his conversation before sidling up next to him, subtly trying to support Walter's injured side, bleary brown eyes blinking languidly at him. That whole conversation was factual and mechanical, Cabe thinks, because the kid is hurt and if he's sluggish it means it's worse than Cabe originally thought.

"Hey there Walter," Cabe says quietly, guiding him to his SUV, which has been conveniently parked close. "It's all right now. Let's get you situated, come on-" he helps Walter climb into the passenger's seat and buckles him before Walter can angrily protest, laying a hand on the kid's shoulder to keep him leaning back. When Walter's indignant, he sits up, and God knows how much that would hurt him right now.

"Cabe?" Walter demands, though it's more of a question- more confused than vexed.

"Team wants to meet us back at the garage," he says. "No room in the other car."

"I should be with them," Walter says and hasn't seemed to process the car is already in motion. "I'm their employer, I should-"

"They wanted you back sooner rather than later with me," Cabe says, and forces humor into his voice. "Something about you doin' all the paperwork."

A ghost of a smile touches Walter's lips as he settles back despite not having gone anywhere in the first place, and Cabe finally deems it safe enough to take his hand off Walter's shoulder. Walter grumbles good naturedly about it for a bit under his breath, shifting slightly and letting out a small, nearly silent hiss as the car bumps along the road. Cabe makes the greatest effort to drive slow and smooth.

Walter's eyes flutter shut.

They've made it back to the garage in ten minutes- slightly slower because of Cabe's conscientious driving- but the agent almost considers doing another lap around the block. Walter has dark smudges under his eyes and looks completely exhausted, slumped in his seat and finally sleeping peacefully, and Cabe is reluctant to wake him lest he be unable to get back to sleep again. The decision is taken out of his hands when the sudden stop of the road humming underneath the car jostles Walter enough to bring him back, asking in a voice meant for a sleepy child and not a tired man, "are we home?"

It's the word _home_ that threatens to break Cabe's heart as he automatically nods, unbuckling Walter's seatbelt before he's aware enough to notice. If he figures it out, he doesn't say anything as he struggles from the car, bandaged hand and hurt arm tucked close to his body, hunched over himself.

Cabe watches him go and follows at a sedated pace, knowing he has to tread carefully now. Too much help and Walter will balk; too little and he'll fall on his face. It's a delicate balance they have going for themselves here.

Walter has left the door wide open, swinging gently on its hinges as he stumbles inside, and Cabe softly shuts it behind him. His eyes track Walter's beaten body as he plops down on the couch (and even that speaks volumes- that he hasn't plopped down at his desk or his latest project). But he only allows himself a moment to wilt before he's perking back up again, on his feet and struggling over to his desk and falling into the chair, pulling out the case file. Cabe watches as Walter grabs a pen and begins to scribble on the report, pausing to rub at his eyes almost subconsciously and managing to stop himself before his arm gets too high and pulls on his ribs. He's grimacing, though, and Cabe realizes it's the injured arm he's using.

Cabe continues to pretend to be busy- he sits and types his own report on his computer, trying not to make it obvious he's looking at Walter.

It takes around ten more stubborn minutes before Walter's pen clatters against his desk, finally motionless. He sighs and reaches up to scratch at the back of his head with his uninjured arm, still wincing slightly. Pain passes over his face before he can school it.

Walter is dazed- Cabe can see it in his eyes. They're murky with pain and cloudy with exhaustion, and when he moves it's much less controlled than usual- sloppy, even. Cabe is moving to catch him before he even registers he's gotten up, taking Walter by the elbow.

"I'm fine," Walter snaps and tries to fight out of the grip, but it only sends him further off balance. Cabe's hold is firm but not unkind as he brings Walter to the couch, chuckling humorlessly and inwardly at Walter's statement. It's so ludicrous that Cabe wonders who Walter is truly trying to convince. "I'm fine and you know I only state-"

"Facts, I know," Cabe finishes for him. "Here's one for you because so help me O'Brien, you're going to sit the hell down-" and Cabe pushes (guides, really) Walter down into a sitting position, ignoring the indignant flash in the genius' eyes, "before you fall down."

Walter grumbles something under his breath and scowls, but stays sitting as Cabe pulls out the first aid kit hiding in one of the couch side tables, pulling out antiseptic and ace bandages (and there are so many rolls in here it makes something tight and chilly creep into Cabe's chest- why do they need so many?) and he sets to getting Walter patched up.

Walter protests a little, but they're half-hearted and thick, and he lets Cabe gently undo the buttons of his shirt and strip him of the one under it, revealing the black and blue mottled skin beneath. Cabe swallows- he can very well see the place where Walter's ribs have broken, an angry streak of white and bright red amidst the sea of blue and black and green that hasn't yet turned purple.

Walter is thinner than Cabe ever remembers noticing- youthful leanness has paved way for slim adulthood instead. Despite the pretty paychecks coming in now from Homeland, Cabe knows that this skinniness comes from hungry days and sleepless nights.

He tries desperately not to think about it any further.

Walter's protestations die down as his ribs gain a little support, the bindings providing enough relief that his stiffness fades. He blinks heavily at something over Cabe's shoulder, looking lost in thought. Cabe finishes tying the bandages around his torso and moves to Walter's arm, making sure to fasten it close to Walter's body in the same position the younger man's been holding it, careful not to cause further harm. He watches more of the pinch between Walter's eyebrows fade, and all at once he looks very much like the teenager Cabe once knew.

He lets the genius sit quietly for a moment, thinking. It's not a long way upstairs to Walter's bedroom, but it's enough, and Walter is exhausted. Studying him, Cabe doubts Walter can even take another step tonight.

He quietly goes to the awkward medicine cabinet in the kitchen and pulls out the strongest pain reliever and drowse inducing thing he can find, reads the dosage, and flicks two capsules into his palm. He pours a glass of water for Walter and then returns to find Walter in the same position as Cabe had left him in, and he presses the little pills into Walter's hand.

"Swallow," he commands, and something in Walter must still register Cabe's words as wise because he tips them into his mouth without argument. "Drink," Cabe says, handing Walter the water (and the shaking of his hands become apparent as the water line trembles slightly as he brings it to his lips) and Cabe sets a hand on Walter's uninjured shoulder again as he gulps down a mouthful, blinking slower now.

Walter goes to get up a few moments later and is once again stopped by Cabe's hand on his shoulder. He doesn't question it, just scowls at Cabe, who looks at him evenly and says, "give it a few minutes to work, why don't ya."

So Walter sits in petulant silence, the only noise the faint humming from the Scorpion sign, which is the only source of light in the garage, and the occasional pop of the gravel outside as a car goes by. And Walter sits with his arm crossed, precariously leaned against the back of the couch, eyes distant and most likely deep in his thoughts.

But then he starts to drift.

Cabe watches as Walter's head dips, slowly blinking, and hazy eyes gazing at everything and nothing all at once, watches as Walter shifts a little without noticing that he's getting into a more comfortable sleep position, watches as Walter's limbs grow heavy with drowsiness, watches Walter's mask slip from his face and to the floor, exposed and unguarded.

_Yep_, Cabe thinks. _Time to lie down._

He gently grasps Walter by the shoulders (and sleepy eyes crack open in confusion but not alarm, something Cabe smiles inwardly at) and guides the younger man down, careful to support his back and relieve the pressure on his ribs, and the creases that appeared on Walter's forehead immediately ease when he's lying down fully on the couch, his eyes blearily fluttering shut again. Sleepy warmth starts somewhere in Walter and he shifts a little, face relaxing into something gentle and younger than Walter usually seems. Cabe slowly removes his hands- not slow enough, apparently, because Walter dazedly looks up at him from under half lidded brown eyes.

"C'be?" He murmurs, and his voice is young, too. "You goin' ta stay?"

His long forgotten Irish lilt touches the words, ghosts over them and makes them affectionate and old, an echo of the past when Walter might have drowsily asked the same thing.

Cabe can't contain his radiant smile. "As long as you like," he promises because Walter is too sleepy to really know what he's saying, much less what he's really promising.

"S'good," he says softly. "S'good y'r here." Then he exhales quietly, sighs, and his breathing evens out, his eyes closing for the last time tonight.

Cabe smiles down at the genius and shakes his head. "God help me, but I'm fond of ya," he tells Walter. Walter doesn't respond, quietly sighing in his sleep. To Cabe, it seems like an agreement.

He heaves a sigh of his own and lifts Walter's feet enough to slide in under them, settling them in his lap. He won't sleep- he's got half a dozen reports to fill out before the night is through, the ones all sitting on Walter's desk, but for the time being he sits and listens to the humming of the Scorpion sign, the only source light in the little garage, and the pop of the gravel outside as the occasional car goes by. He tilts his head back and stares at the darkened ceiling with the lime green beams of light reflecting across it, and concentrates on the sound of Walter's breathing. He grunts a little and moves his neck- he's a little sore, too. But he's taken care of his man- that's what matters.

And if he's listening for the echo of an Irish lilt in the darkness, he doesn't have to tell anyone.

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_Alright! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and please leave me a comment on your thoughts!_


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